


Lord of Casterly Rock

by Mad_Mage



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Attempt at Humor, Attraction, Beware of wolf packs, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Growling Lannisters, House Lannister, House Stark, Irritated big cats, Jealousy, Older Man/Younger Woman, The North Remembers (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-11 02:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20538815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: Quite suddenly, one of his hands traveled south while his other arm stayed around her back, holding her securely against him. Sansa nipped his skin sharply when she felt him grip her backside. Not in his bloody study where anyone could wander in!---Canon Divergence AU featuring very irritated, grumbly, and stubborn lions and determined wolf-ladies who are not impressed by such behavior.





	1. The Wolf of the North

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.
> 
> I have no excuse. None. Welcome to yet another multi-chapter Tywin/Sansa fiction!

The stories didn’t do Casterly Rock justice. Sansa quietly observed the enormous fortress from atop her horse, feeling awed and impressed against her will. Her home was also large and imposing but the Starks didn’t have the gold needed to build something like the castle in front of her.

She smiled a secret self-deprecating little smile only to herself. _The gold_. That was the reason why she was here, wasn’t it? In the dead of the night, Sansa often wondered what had happened to the person she had been before. The naïve girl, the sweet summer child, had been gone for so long it was hard to remember her.

Nodding at Jory, they slowly continued in their journey. Seeing the castle meant that they were almost there after all the trouble they had dealt with to get there.

The winter had been long. They sorely needed money for rebuilding what ice and snow had destroyed and Lord Lannister had proved to be the only ally they had left in the world. It only made sense, of course, that the two disgraced great houses would need to find common ground if they wanted to survive in a world where everyone else was against them. It was pragmatic if nothing else – what other choice did they have?

Five years of biting cold and struggles, Sansa mused as she adjusted her cloak and hood to keep her hair and face covered. The harshest winter anyone had ever remembered had been preceded by horrible times when friendships had been broken, promises forgotten and blood spilled. The North remembered – that had become her personal motto, and Sansa would honor it one day. The Starks didn’t forgive and forget.

They had been spotted and when Sansa’s party of riders finally reached the castle, its lord himself was waiting to greet them. She took the opportunity to examine him, wondering how the man behind the clipped, precise missives looked like.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and slender and didn’t wear any furs despite the chill still present in the air. His hair and short beard were very light – the famed Lannister golden hues were slowly being replaced by silvery strands. Lord Lannister’s face was impassive, yet all Sansa could see were harsh angles of a man who was unused to smiling or laughter, more prone to glaring than anything else. He was a predator not unlike herself and Sansa was gratified.

Jory jumped off his horse and helped her down. Sansa kept one eye on Lord Lannister as she slipped off her hood and made her way toward him. The expression remained emotionless but his eyes widened briefly before they narrowed.

Dropping a curtsy, Sansa said, “Lord Lannister, it is an honor to finally meet you. I’m Sansa Stark.”

“I was under the impression that I was to meet your lord father, the Lord of Winterfell.” Lord Lannister bowed stiffly over her hand and glared down at her. Sansa was impressed – not many men managed to do that seeing that she had grown to be uncommonly tall for a woman. Then again, he seemed to be taller than an average man.

“My father has been ill for quite some time; I’ve been acting in his stead for the last two years so you are meeting the _ruling_ Lady of Winterfell.” She held his gaze calmly. He was probably going over every fact he knew about the Starks. She could almost hear him saying in his indifferent, pragmatic voice; the eldest a hostage, one brother crippled, the other too young, the run-away sister.

“I wish him a speedy recovery,” he said after a moment of thinking. “Welcome to Casterly Rock, my lady. Follow me.”

Sansa gave him one of her small smiles, unsurprised by the lack of manners when he didn’t offer her his arm. He didn’t need to make a good impression and she had known that about him. Lord Lannister wasn’t easily moved – and bowing to the expectations of society was something he wouldn’t like to do – even though he was able to react quickly to changes. His letters had proved as much. He was a man one would like to keep on their good side – if the one wasn’t a king, of course, who had the rest of the realm behind his back.

But she would not think about _that_ man.

“Are you tired after the journey?” he asked in a disinterested tone and glanced at her. In other words, he was asking if she was able to proceed to business talk now.

“Not particularly – it will wait until after dinner.”

“Very well.” He steered them up the main staircase and then through one of the large corridors.

Neither of them felt obliged to fill the silence with small talk and both preferred to discuss important matters in private. Sansa had shed her courtesies long years ago when her people had been starving and empty words had been the last thing on her mind. With her father so ill – _heart-broken_, her mind whispered – and Bran and Rickon still so young, it had fallen onto her shoulders to become the acting ruler of the North. She had needed to find ways how to survive winter and trade goods with the South where no one had wanted to trade with the Starks – the traitors to the Crown, as the gossip went.

Lord Lannister brought her to his study and gestured to her to sit while he moved behind his enormous desk. The desk, however, was surprisingly empty. There were only several stacks of parchments and after a moment, she realized that one of them were letters written in her hand. It looked like he had been going through their correspondence. She sat, taken aback, and glanced around the room.

The opulence of Casterly Rock was for her pragmatic northern mind hard to understand. Red dominated the study, the furniture was expensive and inlaid with gold. The fire was happily roaring and Sansa focused on it for a moment. The firewood was of the North, she knew. One of the articles they had traded.

“I have to say I’m surprised,” he said as he observed her observing the room. “How old are you, Lady Sansa?”

“I’ll be twenty this year,” she answered calmly. “May I ask what the reason for your surprise is?”

“Your wisdom for someone so young, for one. Your ability to rule, next. Your presence, finally. I expressed the wish to speak with your lord father regarding the northern request in person for a _specific_ reason.”

Sansa mulled over his words for a moment. Was it because she was a woman? In the North, no one had really questioned when Sansa had started to show interest in the matters of the keep – it was a lady’s duty to run the castle for the lord, after all. When she later started to be interested in the matters of the whole region, it seemed natural to defer to her. With Robb away, she was the oldest Stark child and it had eased her father’s burdens greatly. When Lord Stark had taken ill, she had been at least partly prepared to act in his stead. There were females who were the heads of their houses and nobody questioned it. Why should some southern lord? He didn’t seem like he cared one way or another – he cared only about usefulness of the person he dealt with, not gender.

“My father hasn’t dealt personally with the matters of the North for some time, my lord. I’ll make sure he knows about your conditions but he is not the one who will decide if whatever deal between the West and the North is accepted. I am.”

They stared at each other and Lord Tywin gave a quick nod. “Very well, I can see there is some steel in you, I won’t beat about the bush, then.”

“It would be much appreciated.”

“What you ask is no small amount of money,” he started. “I’d need certain assurances from the North. I’d want an alliance to put it plain and simple.”

Sansa blinked and tilted her head to the side, watching Lord Tywin closely. It wasn’t the words he had spoken that surprised her, it was the tone. She had expected much more than a simple trade agreement. It was a lot of gold. She had expected an offer of an alliance – they had been in league against the rest of the Seven Kingdoms for the better part of four years unofficially. Giving their pact some sort of legitimacy seemed logical. Where was the catch, then?

“State your conditions, then, my lord.”

“I require an heir.” Lord Tywin pursed his lips tightly together and stared at her. Silence descended between them as he waited for the full meaning to register. Sansa watched the shadows dance across his face and idly wondered if his heart was truly made of gold – there wasn’t even the slightest trace of emotion in the man’s face. Yet she knew that to be impossible.

Lord Tywin Lannister must feel _something_ – anger, resentment, pain. His once great house had been reduced greatly. She was looking at the Last Lion of Lannister as he had been renamed. His great line was facing extinction. Unlike the Starks who were willing to save their family name even through the female line – for there always had to be a Stark in Winterfell –, the Lions of the Rock had passed the title and the lands in an unbroken line from father to the eldest son for the entirety of the existence of their house. Now, Lord Tywin didn’t have an heir and for the first time in the living memory, the titles would need to go to a cadet branch. Probably his nephew would inherit – in the eyes of Lord Tywin, a lesser Lannister would stake a claim on the Rock and its riches.

Personal failure in his eyes, Sansa would wager. It must be eating him alive. There must be something behind the cool mask.

Where did the situation leave them, however? She almost chuckled and wondered how her lord father would have reacted. Not well, she would wager. Sansa loved her father but she wasn’t blind to his faults and Lord Stark was drenched in honor and morals from head to toes to look at a situation without his principles getting in the way. Not the best approach to survive in the cruel world they lived in.

When she had thought about any proposals directed at her, this conversation was the furthest from what she had imagined. It was hardly romantic but she didn’t require romance anymore. There were other things she needed in a man and Sansa was gratified to realize that unlike the majority of women in Westeros, she would have a say in accepting or rejecting this offer of marriage.

“So does Winterfell.”

“You have three brothers, Lady Sansa, and your father is younger than me. I wouldn’t be afraid of the Starks dying out just quite yet. My line, however, is facing a bitter end.”

“Allow me to rephrase it, then – the North requires someone to rule it. I cannot leave and marry you until my father regains his health or one of my brothers is adequately prepared to oversee the needs of the North.”

“Then we find ourselves in quite a situation.” He rose and moved to tower over her. “I believe I’ve stated my conditions plainly, Lady Sansa. I require an heir and I couldn’t care less about how you are going to solve your problem. And I’m warning you, if you think about offering me the daughter of a lesser house, think again. I’m not giving money to some random northern nobles, I’m giving money only to the family of my future wife who will bear me strong, capable sons. A sword or illness can cut down any man and let’s face the truth, I am not a youngster anymore so the chance that my wife will have to teach our children about the responsibility of ruling is higher than it would be should she marry someone younger. Seeing you with my own eyes, and knowing that you are the one I have been corresponding with all these moons… I’m afraid no one else will cut it. I will have you for my wife and the mother of my sons or the North will not have even a speck of my gold.”

She leaned back in the chair to better see his face – there was no visible change but his eyes were gazing at her with great passion. So he did feel something. Was it rage? She understood anger well – it had been simmering just under her skin for five years. In a strange sort of way, Sansa supposed she should be flattered by his words – even if she was exasperated by his stubbornness and bluntness.

“You are not making this easy, my lord.”

“Consider it a taste of what our married life will be like, then.” His eyes strayed to Sansa’s lips as if he was considering also a taste of something. Then he put his hands on the armrests of her chair and leaned closer, watching for her reaction.

Sansa met his gaze, unafraid. She licked her lips and raised her chin. Their mouths were only a breath apart and from this distance, she could smell traces of rosemary on the skin of his neck and noticed that his eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them; emeralds and gold – how fitting for the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“I haven’t agreed to your terms,” she murmured.

“You will.”

Lord Tywin leaned the tiniest bit closer and then straightened abruptly. “I’ll give you time to consider carefully who shall replace you in your duties. With the winter ending, your father’s health might even improve or your younger brother can try his hand at ruling when mistakes aren’t punished so severely.”

“I will need the time to consider whether or not I shall agree to marry you,” Sansa said with an edge to her voice and rose from the chair, expecting him to retreat and allow her some space. He did not. Yet again their faces were too close for comfort and they shared the same breath. For a moment, she wondered what it would feel like – his lips against hers. “My father wouldn’t have bartered any of his children for gold, Lord Lannister. If he was the one talking to you, the conversation would be at an end.”

“You’re not your father. You understand that I’m not offering merely gold.” The implication in his voice was clear. He was trying to intimidate her, threatening to break off their feeble cooperation.

Sansa acknowledged this with a nod, ignoring the threat and reading between the lines of his previous words. It wasn’t only about the gold, he was asking her to provide the next ruler of the West – and as he had pointed out himself, he was essentially asking her to rule his homeland in the case of his untimely death. Also, not so long ago, a marriage to the Lord of Casterly Rock would have been considered quite an achievement. The Lannisters were ancient and wealthy house and being connected to them meant something. However, not so long ago, a marriage to the daughter of Winterfell would have been considered an equally impressive achievement seeing that the Starks were also an old house with control over an enormous part of the continent. Times had changed, though.

“The North and the West don’t have any other option but to ally, my lord,” she said with a small smile, enjoying the fact that this unapproachable man was intently listening to what she was saying. There was something thrilling about his undivided attention. “My father says that the lone wolf dies but the pack…”

“Survives,” he finished with a glint in his eyes she couldn’t interpret. “Nomadic lions without a pride also tend to have short, difficult lives.”

They looked at each other for a moment and Sansa had to look away first. She still had her family. She could hug her younger brothers and father whenever she wished it, they were safe and protected in Winterfell. Robb and Jon were both out of her reach but alive and she could see them again one day. Arya… Well, even there was still hope that she was alive somewhere. If anyone could survive on their own, it was her stubborn little sister.

Lord Tywin, though? He was the lone lion with bleak future ahead of him, caged and unable to act. Just like the Starks. Tamed, toothless beasts; how easily the Lion and the Wolf had surrendered, she scoffed and immediately felt ashamed and angry at herself for even thinking so uncharitably about her family and Lord Lannister. The King held her brother and Lord Tywin’s bastard grandchildren. What else was there to do but to tuck tail if they didn’t want them dead? The Last Lion, her mind whispered treacherously, was alone while Sansa still had most of her pack. She tended to forget that – but Lord Tywin would hardly appreciate Sansa’s pity. She would give him none.

“What we were discussing, my lord, was a matter of personal nature. Let’s not pretend it would have affected already existing trade deals or made new arrangements impossible.”

“It would cement our alliance, tie the North and West together.” He bowed his head slightly, bringing their faces even closer than before. He lingered and lingered and _lingered_ before he moved back only slightly, gauging her reactions, looking for weaknesses he could attack. “I’m quite impressed, my lady.”

“By what? That I’m not easily intimidated or led by the nose?” She scoffed and shook her head, aware that she needed to distance herself from Lord Lannister. He was absolutely unmoved by their proximity but Sansa had never stood this close to a man who wasn’t her father or one of her brothers. She found his study suddenly overheated, the rosemary smell distracting, and felt like she was about to be devoured by the lion. She didn’t appreciate the feeling at all. “If you wish to cement our alliance by marriage – to me – it will be my personal decision. You’ll need to convince me.”

“I do not chase women.” Lord Lannister forced out through gritted teeth and turned on his heel, stomping to the other end of his study to stare into the flames. She had unnerved him, possibly insulted him by her implications.

Sansa heaved a quiet sigh of relief and touched her face, feeling the hotness in her cheeks. She was a woman grown and her body had been uncomfortably aware of the fact that Lord Lannister was a man – a man like none other.

“That’s good to know. I wouldn’t appreciate being chased like an animal.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes ever assessing, and Sansa wondered how long could his interest last. His inspection of her was unnerving – what did he see? Could he sense her iron will, her ruthless streak which had developed after burying too many of her people because of the hunger and cold? Her determination to survive and thrill despite the odds?

“Perhaps I was wrong in my initial belief that you are a pragmatic, sensible woman, Lady Sansa,” he said finally. “If you cannot see the advantages our union will bring, you are either blind or foolish.”

Sansa’s sharp intake of breath betrayed her outrage. That insult stung. For a moment, she held his gaze before he returned to staring into the flames. He was leaning against the fireplace, one hand resting on the top of it. She watched as he closed it into a fist.

“Perhaps I merely don’t consider marriage a business transaction.”

“No?” he scoffed. “Peasants barter cows, nobles their children. Tell me, do you dream of a handsome young knight who will court you? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear, bring you flowers, recite poetry?”

“I stopped dreaming the day my mother died.” Sansa’s voice was cold and she stared at Lord Tywin’s back, willing him to face her. He did, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. “Do I want mutual affection and respect to be part of my marriage? Of course. Do I require it? Not the affection, no, but the respect? Certainly.”

Lord Tywin blinked and his jaw relaxed as he regarded her. Sansa wanted to say how she wished to see the king dead for what he did to them, how she wanted the rest of the Seven Kingdoms to regret turning their backs on the North when they had so desperately needed help.…but that was treason and she would not speak those words out loud unless she could trust Lord Tywin completely. Rebuilding, that was why Sansa was in the West, asking for money from him. She needed to focus on rebuilding the North after the disaster of the last winter. Perhaps later, when things would change as they were bound to do, she could enter the game and plot her revenge.

“Do I want to listen to poetry or sweet nothings? Do I want flowers? No, no, and no. I want my family safe, my people cared for and heads of our enemies on spikes,” she told him, swallowing when the last bit escaped. Seeing the sudden upturn of his lips, Sansa gave him a challenging look. “The North remembers. The husband I will take must be able to understand that. Are you that man, Lord Lannister?”

He strode back to her and Sansa was surprised to see him smile. It was frightening to behold because there wasn’t anything positive in that smile. In his eyes, a green fire burned. He reached for Sansa’s hand and brought it to his lips, planting a brief kiss over her knuckles.

“A Lannister always pays his debts,” he said and his delight made his voice seem almost warm, the deep cadence sending shivers down Sansa’s spine. “If my wife wanted the heads of our enemies, I’d provide them on a golden platter.”

“Careful, Lord Lannister, coming from you, that sounded almost romantic,” she chided and her reward was a short bark of laughter. His grip tightened momentarily.

“Did my second proposal meet your approval, Lady Stark?” Lord Tywin asked, using his hold on her hand to tug her closer to him.

Sansa resisted for a moment, looking up at him. She observed the lines that had been carved into his face by the harsh reality of his life. He knew pain and loss more than anyone else she had met, and he thirsted for revenge just as much as Sansa did. They were equals in the terms of their standing, and both were determined to see their goals carried through but intelligent enough to bide their time. He would be a tremendous ally.

Lord Lannister was also a handsome man as her heart reminded her when it skipped several beats at his proximity. She wouldn’t find affection in the match, she knew that. But there would be mutual respect and there was the undeniable pull she felt towards him which seemed to be reciprocated.

“It did,” she said and didn’t feel ashamed by the breathless quality of her voice. What kind of lover he would make?

“Good.” As if to seal the deal, Lord Lannister leaned down and kissed her. He was a competent kisser, his lips were warm and smooth and his tongue demanded a complete surrender as he plundered her mouth. He tasted of sweet promises with a bitter tang of blood those promises would bring. She smiled into the kiss and returned it with fervor, closing her eyes just as his arms brought her flush against his body.

Oh, her mind turned pleasantly blank, reduced only to enjoying the sensations overwhelming her.

He lifted her easily from the ground so he didn’t have to bow his head as he focused his attention on her collarbone. Sansa gripped his shoulders to steady herself and explored his exposed neck with her lips, tasting rosemary oil on her tongue. She would forever associate its smell with this moment and this man. Her soon-to-be husband. What an unexpected, enjoyable development…

Quite suddenly, one of his hands traveled south while his other arm stayed around her back, holding her securely against him. Sansa nipped his skin sharply when she felt him grip her backside. Not in his bloody _study_ where anyone could wander in!

“Ah, careful, little wolf, careful,” Lord Tywin growled and set her down, looking at her with a smirk, hands settling on her waist. “Or I might return the favor.”

“Let’s not get carried away too much, my lord,” she replied tartly and straightened the high collar of his jacket, smoothing one hand down his shoulder while the other caressed the bite on his neck. She gave him a smile in apology – she had almost broken the skin.

“Your teeth are quite sharp,” he said and sounded pleased. Sansa knew that she certainly was by the unexpected revelation that their passions seemed to match, too. His hands traveled up and down her sides, exploring. “We are to be wed, my lady. A taste of what is to come was in order.”

“Was the demonstration to your satisfaction, Lord Lannister?”

“It was.” He nodded, let out a slow breath through his nose and the last bits of his hidden fire disappeared back behind his stone mask. He deliberated for a moment and then he offered her his arm. “Accompany me to the great hall for dinner.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Sansa looped her arm through his and they made their way out of the study. A quick glance at Lord Tywin’s face revealed that a small, almost invisible smile still resided in one corner of his mouth. She felt unreasonably self-satisfied by her achievement – no one had ever seen Lord Lannister smile if the rumors were to be believed. Perhaps she would find even a certain degree of affection in their union in time, she mused as she caught his eye and smiled up at him. Sansa was nothing if not strong-minded and she had just decided to make the most of her marriage – on all fronts.


	2. The Lion’s Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Lannister sets things in motion – and gets his betrothed a wedding present of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present you Tywin’s POV. Enjoy :)

_The Last Lion_. How he hated the nickname given to him at the dawn of the latest disaster his children had brought upon their house. Closing his eyes, he could still feel the echoes of the shock when he had found out, the terrible rage he had felt when Cersei’s head had been cut off, the fear for the children.

His grandchildren were the only innocents in all of this, the only ones who didn’t bear a speck of blame and the ones who paid the highest price. He breathed out through his nose and clenched his jaw, eyes still closed as he tried to remember how old they were now. They were hardly children anymore, were they?

His blood, until recently the only hope he had had for the restoration of his house, however faint and distant. The probability of their legitimization was low, and the possibility of their freedom mostly non-existent.

Lady Sansa Stark, the fierce and strong she-wolf of the North, had brought him _new_ hope. They had plotted and schemed and growled at each other but they had come up with a way out of the mess their families had left them to clean up.

Meeting her had been such a surprise. Her beauty was even greater than he had heard. Her intelligence matched his own, and her ruthless streak was so delightful that he had proposed not only once but twice in the short hour after meeting her.

Tywin was a pragmatic man. His grandchildren were out of his reach and he would be damned if he allowed his young twit of a nephew to inherit Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. He had been ready to marry Sansa Stark no matter the cost and put a child in her as soon as possible to secure an heir. Allying with the North so openly could and probably would endanger the hostages but it was a price he had been willing to pay even then. The Lion of Lannister, backed into a corner, caged and declawed. He couldn’t stand the feeling of helplessness. It wasn’t in his nature to sit on his hands and let the filth who had wronged him go unpunished.

A smile played at the corners of his lips. His future wife had expressed a wish to have their enemies’ heads served on a platter. Tywin was more than happy to oblige, producing the finest golden platter just for that.

He shared the trait with the Starks of old – a particular Stark of new, it seemed – and their houses together wielded a considerable amount of power. Tywin had been prepared to manipulate Lord Stark in whatever capacity necessary to work with him against their foes – even against the King. Their alliance would give a pause to most of them – only fools like the King would be willing to openly challenge their combined might but the rest of the great cowards – he meant houses, the great houses – would hesitate, would be unwilling to enter into a war so shortly after winter, and most importantly, they would understand the need of more children. A house without children was a house without future and the need to secure new life was paramount, especially after a winter so harsh and cruel.

Sansa had changed everything, however. In her, Tywin had found more than a broodmare. He had found a partner clever and cunning enough to bring their enemies to their knees, a partner who would enjoy seeing them trampled into the deepest horse shit imaginable. The added fact that there were little seeds of doubts in the great lords minds – if the King could use as hostages the heirs of the North and the West, he could very easily threaten the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in the same manner – would work in Tywin’s and Sansa’s favor and the great houses would side with them the moment the winds would change. The crowned fool had been reckless, antagonizing those who should have been his allies.

His thoughts shifted back to his betrothed and Lord Tywin Lannister smirked, picturing Lady Sansa Stark’s face flushed crimson, red lips swollen, eyes dark with desire. She was so much _more_ than a simple broodmare. The fact that Sansa was a beautiful and intelligent woman who would give him equally beautiful and intelligent children was an added bonus. Putting children in her wouldn’t be a mere chore, he was certain he would enjoy every moment of it – and her responses to the few stolen moments of heated passion they had enjoyed so far had told him that Lady Stark – Lady Lannister at that time – would be delighted to find her own share of pleasure in their bedroom activities. Tywin’s smirk widened.

He couldn’t deny that he was pleased with his choice of wife. When he had been younger, he had often contemplated the necessity of another marriage for the sake of building new alliances and securing his bloodline but he had never acted upon those musings. Tywin had been unwilling to tarnish Joanna’s memory that way and he hadn’t been able to even imagine taking another wife. What he had shared with his beloved Joanna had been also so much more than a marriage of convenience – it had been a partnership of equals, a union filled respected and love.

Tywin doubted that he would ever love again but he could see himself respecting Lady Sansa whom he viewed as his equal already. What was even more, upon meeting her in person, Tywin trusted her to be able to withstand any hardships thrown her way. She would protect her family and lands fiercely as a true lioness in name and a she-wolf by blood. He was also a man who took great care of his family and did whatever was necessary to secure the future of the Lannisters and his people. He had even been an indulgent father to his children because he had loved them and wished for their happiness. Tywin had gone as far as putting his daughter on the Iron Throne because it had always been Cersei’s dream, he had gone as far as allowing Jaime to become a Kingsguard because it had been his son’s life goal. And for what? His golden twins had destroyed their family with their selfishness in the name of love.

Tywin scoffed, disliking how dark his mood was becoming. _Love_. His children knew nothing of love. They had grown spoilt, privileged, and self-interested, not understanding the simple fact that true love was pure, selfless and often required a great sacrifice. Lady Sansa would be more prudent than that in her ruling after his death. She had been raised in the old ways and understood the importance of one’s obligations. She would choose her duty over emotions, even if the emotion was love.

A heavy knock echoed in the room suddenly and his eyes snapped open. Moments later, two large men stripped of their weapons shuffled through the open doorway and were greeted by his cold, expressionless mask. Their unwillingness to occupy the same room was palpable, Tywin noted with grim amusement. Yet they had come because their liege lord had commanded it and that was all that mattered.

“My lord, you wished to see us?” asked Gregor Clegane and moved inside the study, stopping in front of Tywin’s desk, towering over it. His younger brother Sandor glared at Tywin before shutting the door and keeping his distance from them both, skulking in the shadows of the corner furthest from the fireplace.

“I did.” Tywin gestured for them to sit which the Mountain did. It was amusing to watch such a large man trying to fold himself into a chair made for a smaller person but somehow, he managed. Ser Gregor was wearing only light leather armor protecting his chest and shoulders, no plate or mail covering his arms or legs, and his neck was bare. His face was pale, gaunt even, and his beard was unkempt and hair shorn short.

The winter had been hard on all of them. With routinely killing his servants for minor slips, Gregor Clegane had had probably the hardest time of all Tywin’s bannermen.

The Hound refused to take a seat, folding his arms over his chest. He looked healthier than his brother, probably because he wasn’t living in the Clegane’s Keep but wandered around the Westerlands despite the weather, wasting away his talents in pointless drunken brawls.

Their animosity was well-known and the only reason why they hadn’t killed each other had been Tywin and his need for both of them for different types of work. The brothers knew it both very well and behaved. While Gregor was Tywin’s instrument of destruction evoking fear in his enemies, Sandor was the faithful dog to use as a guard when he wasn’t too drunk to be found.

He observed the men for a long moment and then shifted his focus to the younger brother. The man had failed in the task he had been given – protect Cersei – but when he had found his way west, Tywin had allowed him to live even if he had considered chopping the Hound’s head off for his failure. Lannisters weren’t fools – at least Tywin wasn’t – to waste the man’s talents and he was willing to acknowledge that there had been nothing a single warrior could have done against the might of the King’s forces. Cersei had been doomed from the first moment she had chosen to cuckold Robert and pass Jaime’s bastards for her husband’s.

Unwilling to think about his children any longer today, Tywin stood up and went to a side table to pour them goblets of wine. He needed to focus all his thoughts to the future. “Winter is finally over.”

“Yes, my lord.” Gregor accepted the wine, blinking up at his liege lord. “The season for war would be soon upon us.”

Many people expected Gregor Clagane to be stupid – all brawn and no brains – but there was a certain level of marginal intelligence in the man. He certainly understood what his strengths were and how to utilize them. He was clever enough to know that Tywin calling him along with his brother to Casterly Rock meant that there were tasks for them.

“It was fucking time for the fucking snow to melt the fuck away,” said Sandor and snatched the goblet greedily. Tywin snorted and walked back to his desk – the only probable reason why the younger Clegane had been found so quickly was because he was itching for a fight. It was in their nature.

“I’m going to get married,” he informed them, leaning against his desk, his eyes flicking between them. They had had their uses in the past, they were strong and capable of great bloodshed. The Clegane brothers were both extremely gifted in a certain sense; some people were born with a talent for violence just like others were born with a talent for ruling, or manipulation, or battle strategy. Tywin was, among other things, good at utilizing others and seeing their weaknesses and strengths. There was one significant difference between the Hound and the Mountain.

“Congratulations,” said Gregor, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He took a sip of wine and swallowed. “How can I be of service?”

“My betrothed Lady Sansa Stark is heart-broken by the behavior of certain family members. I would like you to go and fetch her uncle for me.” He noted that the younger Clegane started at Sansa’s name and quickly finished his wine. Eyes narrowed, Tywin moved toward the side table again, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger as he took the first, measured step.

Gregor nodded seriously, tilting his head slightly in his direction. “Trout fishing, my lord, is my favorite activity.”

“Is that so?” Tywin stopped behind the man’s chair and let his left hand fall on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean you, however.”

With that, he drove the blade of his dagger deep into the flesh between Gregor’s exposed neck and shoulder, right where the leather of his armor ended. The man roared and stood up, blood spurting from the wound, his goblet of wine falling to the ground. Tywin had nicked the artery and the knight would bleed to death quickly. In his last moments, Gregor’s face was contorted in fury and the infamous raging madness shone from his eyes. He was a large and strong man and it would take some time before the blood loss would render him powerless. He reached out with his bare hands for Tywin with every intention to murder his killer.

He sidestepped him and nodded at a shocked Sandor. “Finish him.”

The Hound growled something between agreement and a curse and jumped in front of Tywin, tackling his brother to the ground and slamming his fist into the wound. There was a gurgling sound and the Mountain wrapped his hands around Sandor’s neck and squeezed. He clawed at them but couldn’t loosen their hold, so he repeatedly hit the wound and Gregor’s neck, again and again even while his own face was turning purple from the lack of air. A crunch was heard. Finally, the Mountain struggled to draw his last breath, choking and wheezing and gurgling, and his arms fell to the ground. He moved no more.

Tywin’s floor was stained with blood. It was splattered over the chairs and the desk, it was even splattered over him and he had stood and watched from a distance.

“What the fuck was that?” roared the Hound hoarsely and scrambled to his feet, taking a menacing step toward Tywin. His entire front was covered in his brother’s blood. “Why didn’t you just slit his fucking throat?!”

Tywin calmly cleaned off the blood from his own face with a handkerchief and then offered it to Sandor. “You wanted to kill your brother since you were a child. I merely offered you the opportunity.”

The Hound was breathing heavily and bloodlust shone clearly in his eyes – however, the man had something the Mountain had lacked. Self-control. He was also aware that there had to be guards on the other end of the door, ready to kill him if he tried to harm his liege lord.

He nodded once, shaking, and grabbed the piece of cloth to wipe off most of his face. He turned and marched to the side table, gulping the wine straight from the jug. “Well, what did that cunt do to you? I thought he was your favorite bootlicker.”

Tywin grimaced. Well, the more sane and useful of the Clegane brothers had to have a dirty mouth, didn’t he?

“Your brother had his uses but he outlived them,” he stated coolly. “Brutalizing peasants was all good and well, but he was uncontrollable and I couldn’t have risked him running around and bringing the Lannisters a bad name.”

“Too late for that,” grumbled Sandor and shrugged in response to the glare he had received. His voice was even hoarser, the vocal cords had suffered some damage. “What do you want me to do, then?”

“Can I rely on your loyalty?” asked Tywin emotionlessly, carefully studying the kinslayer in front of him. Angry red imprints of large hands were visible on his neck, his face was redder than was natural and his hands holding the jug were noticeably trembling. He hadn’t loved his brother but he had feared him and that had been the reason why the Hound had become also a Lannister man as a youth – since that moment, he had been under Tywin’s protection, untouchable by Gregor. With the Mountain gone, the primary reason to stay loyal was also gone.

It had been a gamble Sansa had suggested and Tywin had been willing to risk it. Her arguments had been sound – the whole realm knew about the infamous Clegane brothers and their animosity. The gains vastly overshadowed the possible losses. However, Tywin started to wonder if there wasn’t more to it – something wasn’t quite adding up now.

“My family served yours for years,” he spat. “It’s all we have ever known.”

“Doesn’t mean men like you can’t learn new tricks,” Tywin said idly. They stared at each other and the scarred warrior shrugged.

“I’m too fucking old to learn new tricks.” He squeezed the jug so hard with his hands that the silver dented under the pressure. “You command, I obey. I obey well, you reward me. That’s how it works.”

“My betrothed suggested cutting your brother’s head off and sending it to Oberyn Martell,” continued Tywin, cautiously observing the Hound for a reaction – a blink, a muscle in his face tightening, anything.

“The Stark girl suggested what?” He rasped and coughed, his eyes were wide with disbelief. There was it again. He couldn’t control himself when Lady Sansa was mentioned, Tywin now knew for sure. “Like fuck she did!”

“You know Lady Stark?” asked Tywin softly, something cold and unpleasant wrapping its tendrils around his insides. He didn’t like the situation – Tywin Lannister was usually the one in control, possessing all the trumps and knowing all the important facts. When he didn’t, he couldn’t prepare properly, he couldn’t plan his next steps. This, this was a new variable he hadn’t expected.

“We’ve met,” grumbled the Hound and refused to meet Tywin’s questioning stare. “In King’s Landing.”

Tywin slowly circled the study and sat behind his desk, his eyes never leaving the warrior. Sandor Clegane wasn’t flustered, not truly, but he was uncomfortable mentioning it. Lady Sansa had also conveniently forgotten to tell him that she had met the Hound in person.

The timeline of their meeting didn’t add up. His daughter’s head had rolled moons before the Starks had arrived in the capital. Also, as far as Tywin knew, the younger Clegane had run off as soon as Cersei had been arrested, saving his life before the King had been able to order his death as well.

Tywin clenched his jaw – he should have questioned the man more thoroughly about the time he had been supposedly hiding from the King’s forces. It looked like he had spent some of it in the company of the future Lady Lannister. Was this the reason why she had suggested that the younger Clegane was far more useful than the older one? Why she had insisted that he offered the Hound the chance to finish off the Mountain? It seemed so.

“Hmm,” he hummed in reply when the silence had stretched for too long. Tywin reached for his wine and took a sip, staring at Sandor. “Under what circumstances? Before or after you deserted your post?”

The Hound snarled softly and then put the dented jug down, crossing his arms over his chest. “I tagged along when the Little B- Lady Sansa was leaving the city after the, uh, accident.”

Not even the Hound would dare to call a lady of noble birth a bitch and his tone before he had caught himself had been almost affectionate. Had he almost slipped and called her a _pet name_? Tywin clenched his jaw, the only outward indication of his ire. He remained staring at the warrior, his mind furiously working. Did that mean that Sandor had spent several moons hiding in the capital after his mistress’s head had been cut off, and then he had simply decided to join the Starks when they had been fleeing the city? And they had let him, knowing the Hound’s reputation and loyalty? Risking more of the King’s wrath? Tywin doubted it. What had the Hound almost called Lady Sansa with such _familiarity_ and _fondness_?

Those thoughts were feeding the flames of suspicion inside him and Tywin had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been manipulated in some way. He couldn’t be certain of the purpose but he strongly disliked the implications of the closeness between his betrothed and his servant. Lady Sansa was certainly clever enough to have things her way and she had obviously wanted Sandor Clegane alive and well and serving the Lannisters – serving _her_ – in the future.

He would have the truth but time was of the essence. He needed Tully and he needed him before his journey to the North. Then, Tywin would pry the truth about Lady Sansa and the Hound out of her… or torture it out of him, whatever would prove to be necessary.

“An accident,” he scoffed and shook his head. Was this how the King referred to the incident with the Starks? Who in the seven hells believed him? Certainly not the Starks, and not the Lannisters. Perhaps only the Tullys were so stupid to take the King’s word at face value.

“See that Lady Sansa’s instructions are carried out,” he said, nodding at the lifeless body of the Mountain. “Transporting the whole corpse would be impractical but feel free to add other body parts to the package that could please Lord Oberyn.”

One particular body part came to mind but Tywin was already contemplating other things than Oberyn Martell’s twisted sense of justice. Those things included Sansa’s delightful ruthlessness and her ability to think like men like Martell. The Dornish had always had difficult relations with the Reach and the Stormlands and only recently had become hostile to the Lannisters – after the unfortunate error in judgment on Tywin’s part in allowing the Mountain a free hand in the sacking of King’s Landing.

Sansa’s idea of placating Dorne was brilliant. While Tywin knew that Oberyn Martell would be delighted to gut him personally for his supposed role in the death of Elia Martell and her children, he was also certain that Martell would find Sansa’s gesture to his liking. A poetic justice, he would call it and would be interested in keeping friendly relations with the woman delivering him Gregor’s head – especially after Tywin’s death.

He grimaced inwardly. While Tywin didn’t plan to die in the foreseeable future, he was no fool and he knew that his wife would outlive him by decades. She would rule in his stead until their children would be old enough and she would deal with their enemies long after Tywin’s demise. They – _she_ – would need the Dornish support or at least their neutrality in the coming years, and Sansa knew that and was already acting accordingly.

“Send this note with it,” he said, reaching into his desk for a sealed parchment and offered it to the warrior. A stray thought found its way to the forefront of Tywin’s mind as he watched Sandor take the note. The kinslayer looked down at the parchment, where Sansa’s own hand had written Martell’s name, and stared at it for a second.

Tywin tried to shake the thought away but it persisted within his mind.

“As you say,” grunted the Hound finally, meeting his gaze briefly. Tywin gestured for him to wait a moment longer when he moved to leave.

“And then go to the Riverlands and bring me Edmure Tully. Be discreet about it. No one can know we have him. Do you understand?” he stressed out. Sansa had found a way to make peace with Dorne, he would make sure that the Riverlands wouldn’t pose a problem either.

Clegane nodded, flashing a dark smile at his lord as he bowed mockingly. “No one will.”

“Good. When you return, we’ll journey north to meet with my betrothed, so make haste.”

He watched as the Hound flinched yet again when Sansa was mentioned. The warrior bowed slightly for one last time, tucked the note under his arm carefully and grabbed his brother’s arm. He started to drag the body away, disconcertingly whistling Rains of Castamere.

Tywin’s face morphed into a deep frown as soon as the Hound was out of sight. He glanced around his ruined study and then reached for his goblet of wine and took a sip. His future wife was both classically beautiful and alluringly attractive. What was more, she was young so she would stay both those things for long, long years. She was also strong, capable and intelligent and her manners were beyond reproach, her smile sweet and her general nature caring and warm – to those who were not her enemies, of course. He had seen her interact with her surroundings, after all. Only a few people had ever been privy to the fact that she was ruthless and cunning when necessary. It was a mix of qualities he had found to his liking. He wasn’t the only man who enjoyed those in a woman, though, was he?

Was the Hound infatuated with his betrothed? Did she know? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Would Oberyn Martell upon meeting her in the future become interested in her as a more than an ally? He collected mistresses as a hobby – but Tywin doubted that Lady Sansa would appreciate being one of many other women warming Lord Oberyn’s bed. What about other high lords she would eventually encounter in her position of the Lady Lannister, though? Sansa could bring men to their knees by her looks alone.

Tywin found the fact that she had one more advantage over them gratifying but on the other hand, it was also annoying. She would be _his_ _wife_ and he didn’t look forward to the times when other men would slobber all over the Lady Lannister. No, he didn’t look forward to that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really planning to give you all some answers after the last chapter, I swear I did. So, after writing 6 pages from Sansa’s POV in which she managed to convince Tywin to go for a northern style wedding and hinted at some explanations, the plot demanded that I had to switch POVs and skip certain things (kind of like in ‘Colors’). I had to rewrite and here we are. I hope you liked Ty’s thought processes anyway. I have to say that I was really glad to be rid of the Mountain.  
The next update for ‘Blood’ is coming tomorrow. It needs just a bit of polishing.  
Also, I’m proud to share with you some good news. One of my original short stories has just been accepted into a competition – the first ten places will get published, so wish me luck! Cheers, Mad :)

**Author's Note:**

> Who shall succeed? Will Tywin come to care for his little wife? Will Sansa manage to awaken love in the cold heart of her husband? Will they conquer Westeros or find another clever way to make their enemies pay? Will there be any cute cubs running around? What happened to the Starks? What reduced the Lannister influence so? So many questions and only one way to find out… Thanks for reading and let me know what you think :)


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